


A Sweet Saviour

by AzuraKenway



Category: Logan Lucky (2017)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-08 19:24:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15936728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AzuraKenway/pseuds/AzuraKenway
Summary: When receiving unwanted attention at a bar is a regular occurrence, you don’t usually worry about it. But then again, you usually have a friend watching your back. Out in whoknowswhere of North Carolina, you don’t have any friends. Or so you thought.





	A Sweet Saviour

The ambrosia ran slick over your lips, the music in the air heavenly tonight. But this wasn’t Olympus, and neither was the honey coloured drink a god-crafted ale. What made tonight so ethereal was the fact that you had done it. You had successfully run away.

Not in the teenage sense of the phrase. You weren’t a rogue kid, fed up with their parents and with just the clothes on their back as they made a petty attempt at proving a point. You were a woman of her own charge, with no more depressing waitress job and no more shitty run-down apartment. You were making the most of your freedom, and your last pay check, by allowing yourself to wallow in a carefree attitude.

So careless in fact that you almost smiled keenly at the seedy man who took a too-close seat next to you. You had to remember to grimace.

“What’s a pretty lady like you doing here all alone?” He asked.

“I’m drinking.” You retorted, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

The man held his hands up, clearly receiving the message, and backed off. Maybe the world was being kind for once. It sure seemed so when the cute bartender waltzed right up to you, his hospitality impeccable.

“Heya Big Apple, can I get you anything more to drink?” He asked, his thick southern accent made gentle just for you.

“Yes, please.” You smiled, watching as he took your empty glass back to the bar. It was only then that you got a good look at the man. You didn’t know whether to address the elephant in the room or not. You decided it would be rude to mention it.

You had told him how you had moved to New York City, hoping to make your dreams come true. But it was too fast, too unfeeling, your kind nature couldn’t equilibrize with the harsh reality of that world. And it had hurt at first, knowing you didn’t fit into the place you had dreamed of moving to since you were young. But every day away from the city, in the clear, smog-less air, was sure making you feel better about the decision to leave.

The bartender returned with your filled glass, wet on the sides with condensation.

“Yes, I have a missing hand.” He said as he placed your drink down. His eyebrows creased, as if he regretted saying it out loud. “It’s uh, I thought it would be less awkward if we just got it out of the way.”

You nodded, tapping your nails on the side of the glass.

“I’m-“ You stopped yourself. Would it be pretentious to tell him you were sorry for his loss? Probably. “You seem to be getting along just fine.” You said, then cringed. That sounded bad.

But he must’ve understood your struggle, as he just smiled politely in return. “You holler if you need another drink, y’hear?”

“Yeah, thanks.” You smiled back, grateful that he was such an easy-going man.

A couple drinks further into the night, you were beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol. The world was spinning happily, off-axis in a way that was as delirious as it was destabilizing. The seedy man from earlier made his return.

“You ready to be nice this time, lady?” He asked.

You were drunk, but not enough to have your inhibitions that skewed.

“Nope.” You slurred, popping your ‘P’.

The guy slung an arm around you, your immediate response to repulse away. You pushed him off of you, and to your surprise he left without another word. You angrily gulped at your drink, death staring the man as he wobbled over to the jukebox, tapping at it.

You were about to take another sip of your drink when it was pulled from you, clumsily, so that the liquid spilt all over your shirt.

“W-what the hell!” You started, before looking up and calming at the sight of the bartender’s face. “Oh, it’s you.”

“How much of this have you had?”

You frowned, annoyed that the bartender himself was chastising you for drinking. “Not that much. I’m fine.”

“No, I mean,” He turned his gaze, glowering at the seedy guy who had been hitting on you, “how much have you had out of this cup?”

“Why?” Fear knotted in your stomach. “You don’t think he drugged me, do you?”

The bartender met your eyes with his, a sad look given to you. “I think so. He dropped a pill into it. I already called the police, so don’t you worry yourself. But I don’t wanna make a scene and scare ‘im away just yet.” He gritted his teeth then, taking a seat next to you. “But once they get here… well I’m sure the good sheriff won’t mind if I get a few hits in.”

You hid behind the large man now, overwhelmed with irrational fear. But the thick frame of the bartender, despite his missing appendage, made you feel very much secure.

“I never asked your name.” You said quietly, trying to focus on anything but the new pounding in your head.

“It’s Clyde.” He said. “Are you feeling okay missy?”

You shook your head. “Will I have to go to the hospital?”

Clyde shrugged. “Depends. Some ladies I see come in here’ll take a date rape drug like it’s nothin’. But then again, you ain’t been bred like a country girl.”

“Are you saying I’m not tough?” You joked.

“Hey, you’re tough enough to leave something behind when you know it’s through. Not many people have the strength to admit when they’ve made a mistake.” He said, playfully pushing your shoulder with his. “I’d still have my hand if I could’ve done so.”

You looked down at the prosthetic attached to the upper half of his right arm.

“Ugly. I know.” He murmured.

“I don’t think so.” You said. Maybe the alcohol had skewed your inhibitions a little, or maybe it was the drug’s affect. “I don’t think it’s ugly or beautiful. It just is.”

Clyde let out a sigh. “Thank God you didn’t say it’s ‘cute’. So many girls feel bad for me, so they’ll get into talking about ‘oh Clyde, your arm is so darn adorable!’. Like, no Patsy, it’s not there.”

You laughed then, and for a moment you didn’t feel drunk at all. Everything felt so much clearer than it had been.

“Do you mind if I see it?”

“What? Old Mr. Stumpy?”

You giggled. “That’s what you call it?”

“Only when he’s getting hit on. I gotta check his ego somehow, y’know.” He carried on with the banter while he unlatched his prosthetic. “I would’ve had to take it off anyway when the police came. Just in case a fight broke out.” He winked.

He revealed the base of his missing forearm, the remaining skin stitched in an X shape. You took a gentle hold on the arm, tracing over the healed stitching with your thumb.

Clyde huffed a laugh.

“Ticklish?” You asked.

“Well, any part of a human body that don’t get touched too often will do that.”

You don’t know why the first thought that popped into your head wasn’t his sides.

You would’ve gotten lost in those thoughts too, if you hadn’t spotted red and blue lights reflecting in Clyde’s pupils.

“You come into the back while we get this sorted, alright?”

You did as you were told and waited in the storage area of the bar. You heard quite the ruckus, but any temptation to view the scene was thwarted by your pounding head and the fact that when you stood the world felt like it was doing jumping jacks. By the time Clyde came back, his hair was dishevelled and his chest rising in semi-rapid intervals.

“You okay?” He asked. All you could do was nod, made speechless by how much of a comic book hero he looked like in that moment, with the flickering light above illuminating him. “I’ll call you a cab.”

You shook your head. “I was going to catch the late bus tonight to South Carolina.”

“Don’t you have a place to stay here? I think it’d be too dangerous in your state to be out ‘n’ about all alone.”

You shook your head again. Clyde helped you up.

“How ‘bout this. I’ll take you back to mine and drive you to South Carolina myself in the morning.” He offered. “I promise I ain’t some shady man trying to get into your lady parts.” He cringed after saying that. “Look, I’m just worried that if I leave you alone someone else will try to snatch you up.”

“You want me all to yourself, huh?” You teased.

“Mhmm.” Clyde hummed, half-seriously.

“Alright then, let’s go.”

“…Let’s go.” Clyde said, surprised you had agreed at all.

Maybe he could convince you to stay in Charlotte for a while longer – after he’d cured your hangover with a hearty southern breakfast, of course.


End file.
